


Baby Boy

by emmagrant01



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Baby Spock, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-18
Updated: 2009-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda nurses her baby boy and wonders what the future holds for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is, I believe, the first piece of gen fic I have ever written. Ever. And interestingly enough, it's probably the most deeply personal fic I've ever written. Go figure.
> 
> Inspired by this ADORABLE portrait of Baby Spock by lizardspots (http://community.livejournal.com/st_fanart_meme/282.html?thread=4378#t4378). Information about Spock’s origins from a post I now cannot find, argh. It was a summary of the pro-fic novel Spock's World, which described Spock's origins as a literal test-tube baby.

“Where’s Spock?” Amanda asked, twisting to look around the room from her position seated on the floor. “Where is he? Where’d he go?”

With a giggle, the baby sitting before her pulled at the blanket covering his head, and smiled toothlessly at her.

“There he is!” She tossed the blanket back over his head with a laugh, and started the game again. “Where’s Spock? Where is he?”

“Gah!” Spock replied, and tugged the blanket off. He held his chubby arms up toward her, large brown eyes imploring.

“There he is,” Amanda repeated as she plucked him from the floor to settle him in her lap. “There’s my darling boy.” She kissed his forehead and nuzzled his cheek with her nose, inhaling the scent of him.

“Mmmmuh,” he said, and then buried his face in her chest.

“Oh, you’re hungry, aren’t you? You’re hungry, yes.” She tugged her shirt up, and laughed when he lunged for her breast, mouth open wide and tongue sticking out. She settled him against her body and watched him suckle, and smiled. “Hungry baby, yes. You’re a hungry boy, aren’t you?”

Her breasts began to tingle as the milk let down, and Spock’s suckling slowed to a gentle rhythm, his cheeks hollowing and his jaw moving, punctuated by pauses as he swallowed. His eyes were large and liquid brown, and they stared up into her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the universe. One tiny hand caressed the curve of her breast and then settled there, holding on almost reverently.

She sighed and smoothed down his sparse dark hair, twirling a curl around her finger. She cherished these moments so much after everything they had been through, after all the heartbreak and waiting and worrying if they would ever have a child of their own. Spock was their last attempt – she would not have been able to bear another miscarriage, another devastating loss.

And there had been moments when she wondered if it was all worth it, if they were trying to create a life that should not be created. Sarek had assured her the medical advances their case helped create in Vulcan reproductive technology would benefit the greater good, that they were not being selfish. That _she_ was not being selfish, rather. He didn’t understand why she felt so selfish for wanting a child that was part her and part him, not when there were human and Vulcan children needing homes. The desire to procreate and pass on one’s own genetic material was logical, he often said. An evolutionary imperative.

Logic had nothing to do with it, she would reply. He did not understand. He never would, but it didn’t matter.

Spock’s eyes were drifting closed now, dark lashes fluttering against green-tinged cheeks. She had sent her mother a picture of him recently, and her mother had commed immediately to ask if he was ill, not understanding the Vulcan equivalent of rosy cheeks. Sarek’s mother had similar concerns about Spock’s propensity to laugh and smile, as this was something Vulcan infants did not do unless mentally defective.

If Sarek harbored any concerns about his son’s half-human nature, he did not voice them. For now, it didn’t matter. It would be years before he began school, before he would learn how different he was from everyone else. How different he would ultimately be, no one knew.

Spock’s suckling had diminished completely now. His face was smashed against her breast, his tiny mouth slack around her nipple. She shifted him in her arms, cradling his head gently, and wiped a dribble of milk from his chin with her thumb.

The future was irrelevant. For now, this was everything: this sleeping baby in her arms, snuggled against her breast, believing his mother was the center of his existence. He was part Sarek, and part her, and wholly Spock.

And he was perfect.


End file.
